


Dragon Age F/M Ficlets (Starring Sarai Hawke)

by sixnumbers



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Character(s), Character(s) of Color, Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Character of Color, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixnumbers/pseuds/sixnumbers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was originally just Sarai/Fenris but has developed into a handful of fics involving my Hawke and DA2 men (Which is really just Fenris and Samson).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> let me tell you about Sarai~
> 
> [Sarai](http://40.media.tumblr.com/f4e3fa0d40705805d95c8274c1870b7f/tumblr_nihlnvOJdx1qbd2mbo5_1280.jpg) [Hawke](http://41.media.tumblr.com/c22e361a77bc23b2ad1b4ae5cd4ac97a/tumblr_nj83z808WX1qbd2mbo4_1280.jpg) (links go to photos) is my very special angry princess. I've given her a facelift a few times (thanks Black Emporium!) but her personality doesn't change much. She's a two-handed warrior and very serious, but unusually diplomatic when needed. Personally, I think she would had stopped the Qunari wrecking shit--but that's my opinion.
> 
> She's intense, dedicated, and really easy to piss off. She's aware of her privileges as a rich girl and spends a lot of free time helping other Fereldens, cutting down slavers, and desperately hoping Kirkwall doesn't turn to complete shit.

She woke up, noticing the absence of warm arms around her waist. Had he left already? What did she do wrong?

But he was still there, standing at the fireplace, looking into the fire as if it had something to say. He looked—sad. Dejected. It hurt to look at him.

"Fenris?"

He turned and smiled weakly at her. She sat up on the side of the bed, concerned.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"I’m sorry. It was not that—it was fine."

Fine? She was a little concerned with it just being ‘fine’. ‘Fine' was best used to deflect questioning.

"That is insufficient," he sighed. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"You were nothing to scoff at, either."

She smirked a bit at him looking away, but realized that meant more than she immediately read.

"What’s bothering you, Fenris? Is it your markings?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It’s not that. I began to remember—my life before. Just flashes and faces—" Fenris turned away, talking with his hands out of nerves and anger, not the energy she was used to. It worried her. "I—it’s too much, too fast. I cannot do this—"

"Fenris," and Sarai got up to get closer, but doesn’t touch him. He looked her up and down, seeming to panic.

"I can’t—"

"You don’t have to, whatever you think it is." He's panicking, and that was the last thing she wanted. "I'm not forcing you into anything. I’m sorry, sorry I pushed you—"

"No, no. This—I wanted this but—" He shook his head. "I can’t tell you everything. I—you would think less of me."

His voice cracked, and he didn't look up. There was a silence, and in that she understood. He was hurt so deeply, body and soul, and it came back when she touched him. It uncovered things he had buried for years. Oh, Maker. She should have known better.

"He hurt you, didn’t he? In ways deeper than physical scars."

He didn't respond, but he didn't need to. Sarai gritted her teeth. Danarius, Hadriana, all--How could someone look at him, look at Orana, and only see a potential to be cruel?

"Yes," he said weakly. "I’m sorry. I feel like such a fool, for doing this when—this could happen."

"You don’t need to apologize. You can’t help those things, memories flooding back, hurting you over and over again when you don’t expect them."

Fenris sighed, looking back up at her.

"You understand?"

"Not in the same way as you, but I have those, too. They show up when I’m—alone, and worried. Sometimes they make me so sick I can’t eat."

Fenris nodded, and Sarai slowly moved her hands to his. The gauntlets are surprisingly cold, but he doesn’t resist her touch, and their fingers intertwine.

"All I wanted is to be happy, for just a little while."

She stroked her thumbs over his gloved fingers and Fenris softens, only slightly, before he lets go of her hands.

"I—need to go."

"Okay," Sarai responded, stepping away. "I understand."

He looked at her again, somehow sad but warm, and turned to the door. He doesn’t look back at her, and she doesn’t follow him. When he leaves, she suddenly feels far too unprotected. He had shared so much with her. Would he come back?

She wasn't sure what she would do if he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these are all also posted at my tumblr, but these are re-edited and slightly re-written.

"You made yourself like them."

Sarai turned from her boots, wiping the last of raider blood off them, and looked up at Fenris. He was upset, and his powerful gaze was still apparent even in the campfire's light.

"What do you mean?"

"You sapped that man of the last of his life. Do you think I would not notice?"

"Do you dislike my Reaver training? It's not as if I’m not an evil blood mage. I haven’t possessed any new bodies, killed any well meaning citizens, or raised anyone from the dead. Have I?"

He shakes his head. “Have you not heard the stories? They go mad from all the dragon's blood.”

"I have heard them."

"And you expect to be different?"

"No. I can't control how it will affect me."

"It is no different from magic. One day you will potentially hurt everyone around you. What  _if_ you were a mage?"

"You wouldn’t even be here. You’d see my staff and get some sort of feeling, and I’d be dead. No thought otherwise."

"Not entirely true."

"I mean if I had used some form of blood magic."

"That answer still applies."

"There was a line you would have seen me cross. I wouldn't have known, but you would have." Sarai sighed. "I can’t reassure you that I’m not--something else. Reavers all are. Maybe I am an abomination. I drank from a  _dragon_ and lived. But I never have taken innocent blood to fuel myself. King Maric himself was one. And--even if I wasn’t a reaver, magic runs through these veins, too. Regardless of how it didn’t manifest in me.”

She looked down morosely, feeling his gaze soften.

"Did you always feel like there is a taint in me? Something you will no longer love? A part of me that you have to bury under my other traits to say ‘I love you’ at night?"

He came closer and sat next to her, making eye contact with her hesitantly. The silence is tense, especially given it's a quiet night.

"Saying that—"

"I worried when I ask for your help when we bring Bethany, or Anders, or Merrill. You barely concealed your rage. You've changed, even though I haven't asked you too. And I'm grateful--but when it came my sister? The girl I’ve known my whole life? Her heart is full of--" Sarai shook her head. "Bitterness filled my throat. I felt conflicted. How could I love a man who would hate my father, hate my sister?"

"I wouldn’t have hated them."

"If you didn’t care for me, you might have."

She lets Fenris pull her closer, eyes like a knife on her own.

"Fenris--"

"I am simply naturally distrustful. I have been betrayed and hurt before. Relying in you--takes more strength than I could imagine. Each day I used to worry you will return me to Danarius."

"Fen--I would never!"

"Your actions proved that. As Bethany's had that she meant no harm. Anders and Merrill--I have yet to see."

"They protect and often heal me. They have proven themselves to me, at the least."

"Then that is what is most important, is it not?"

"If you believe so, Fen."

There's a long silence again before Sarai takes a deep breath, holding Fenris' hand.

"I’m not absolving mages or magisters," she begins. "The Tevinters are terrible. The slavery, the oppression, the hungry need for power, none of that I can approve of. And Ferelden isn’t innocent of it, either. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Amells did some business that would make me sick. I won’t ask you to forgive what trespasses I might have done against you."

She looks away again, sighing. “I am always glad you stay.” 

"I have no desire to leave you."

Fenris takes her chin and tilts her face up, gently, to kiss her.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sarai."

He traces a line down her spine under the blankets, a tenderness he’s still not used to. But she’s just as soft with him. There are no brooding or bitter jokes that come out of her mouth, no pain from her hands. Her gaze is loving, soft, welcoming. Is that why he's fallen for her so hard? That beneath the exterior, she was so--accepting?

”Yes, my love?”

It’s been years now, years split between not knowing and having her love. Of running and hiding and making a new home. And he’s adjusting to it. Each delcaration feels surprising.

"I--did not need anything."

"You just wanted to say my name?" She shifts over to face him, blankets exposing her breasts slightly, more when she reaches over and strokes his arm. She fixes her hair, a lost venture given how many stray hairs escape her tight Orleasian-style braids. 

"It is beautiful."

Sarai smiles like he’s never told her this before. He’s sure she just likes hearing it again.

"I do like when you say it."

"You have said that about many things."

When he’s gentle or when he says nothing but venom. His laugh often leads her into his lap, a Tevinter swear word earns him her hand to hold. In contrast, her voice is like a melody on a lute, and he hears her in his thoughts even when she's not near him.

"Your voice is just as handsome as you are. I could listen to you talk about anything." Sarai moves closer, and Fenris responds by putting his arm around her. "Well, save that it’s nothing too distressing. I would hope you’d leave that outside of bed.”

Fenris smirks as Sarai props herself up with one arm. She’s all tense muscle, showing more when her arm flexes. There are a few scars on her shoulders and chest, all aged with time. Her dark skin hides them well enough, though Sarai wears them with pride. He pulls her close to kiss her again, cupping her cheek.

"This is the last place I would discuss that," he states as she breaks the kiss.

"Then," she whispers, putting a leg over his hips to straddle him, "Tell me about all the things you’d like to. Bed appropriate, of course."


	4. Chapter 4

"I was a coward. If I could go back, I would stay, tell you how I felt."

Sarai shakes her head.

"You’re one of the bravest people I know, Fenris."

"You humor me."

"No, I mean it. You escaped Danarius and you kept running, even when you were probably scared, hungry and tired. And now, you’ve killed him, and before that, killed the woman who hurt you. Nothing about that screams cowardice."

"But, I was not able to tell you—how I really feel about you, Hawke."

"In comparison, that's minor. And you left because it was too fast, too sudden. I don't begrudge you." 

She stands and moves closer to him, keeping some distance between them. It’s easy to forget how fragile he can be, since he’s always covered in spiky armor with a sour scowl. He doesn't think of himself as such, and he shouldn't. Sarai's seen him at his powerful, the strength in his swing, the power behind his fighting skills. But this? He's new to.

His brows relax and he looks away from her, and Fenris closes them for a few moments, to hide evidence of how distraught he is.

"There are many times I thought I would lose you, and it hurt to think that I never told you—how much you mean to me. I worry that I cannot, still, at least not the way I would prefer."

"Then, may I say how I feel about you?"

He smiles, just barely. "If you would like."

Sarai took a deep breath. If he was going to be open and vulnerable, she would be, too.

"When you first stumbled into my life, I found you scary," she smirks, ashamed of the word now. Fenris chuckles, but adds nothing more. "I had never met anyone like you before, out of all the people and races in this city. Your markings, the way you carried yourself--you dominated the spaces you inhabited. But I got to know you. I saw  _you_. More than just the escaped slave, the lyrium scars, the distance you kept between all of us. I saw you smile, that first time I went to see you, and it was like—you became one of my many waking thoughts, Fenris. I--wanted you by my side. Whenever I could have you."

"Sarai," he sighs, and she prickles at her name from his throat. Fenris says it so rarely, it feels special when he does. He reaches for her hand, grazes his thumb over her palm lines. She had taken off her gloves long ago, now sitting on the bench near them.

Suddenly, it feels like she can’t say it, she can’t peel off that last layer of her inner armor, either. Being in love was new to her, too. Loving others, that was familiar. But him? Sarai starts but stumbles, and she relaxes as his hands move to hold her. He is as warm as the fire, the scent of him sharp and coppery. She breathes in deep, almost ashamed of herself. She wants this forever, wants  _him_ all over again.

"What would you have said, that night?"

"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

His hand now cups her face and tilts her, ever so gently, into a warm, slow kiss. The taste of wine and blood remind her of the night they spent together all over again, and she closes her eyes and they both tremble. Her arms go around his neck and she moans into the kiss, letting him set the pace.

Breaking apart just for one moment, she whispers “There’s no where else I’d rather be.”


	5. A Goodbye Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mass Effect AU [kinda], for the Kiss Meme.

There was time, but not much of it. The jump was in four minutes, and she was already geared up to make it. At least they weren’t in an asteroid field this time. She swore she nearly died twice. Isabela had fretted over how she’s always willing to kill herself to make things work, that you’ve got a death wish like you don’t have friends.

Sarai was still reeling from death. Her mother and father, though her mother’s disapproval still stung, even from the grave. Her brother’s, more hotheaded and shortsighted than herself. And he was the good child, somehow managing to go out with charming optimism.

And each one felt more dull, like an empty hollow noise in her head. An echo of the past. She barely had Bethany anymore, sent to the other side of the galaxy for fuck-knows-why.

She thought of bleeding out and it didn’t seem so bad. It wasn’t suicide if it was for good, was it? She was dead for a few moments, once. When she came to, she was so angry she left the hospital. Or tried, before the nurses sedated her.

She started all of this, tried her best to make this slice of the galaxy better. And it lead her to  _Commander Hawke_ , a title that made her sick. Each waking moment was like Russian Roulette. And the fact that it calmed her chilled her closest friends to the bone.

It was selfish. She did have friends, people who cared. She had Aveline and Varric, Merrill and Anders. And Isabela, _Isabela_. She sighed, her heart twisting. A lost love, a lost friend, far off elsewhere now. And here was–Fenris. The thought of him hurt. Not seeing him again–it didn’t matter. What mattered anymore? She wanted it to stop. God, or whatever was out there, just fucking  _fix it_.

Sarai cleaned the screen of her helmet, resigned to her fate. It was vital that this worked, that she made it over. It was negotiation, and she wasn’t as strongly armed as she could be. She wasn’t a biotic, either, so there were no other tricks up her sleeve. She was the last piece needed to fix this mess. Even if it was with her blood. 

“Hawke!”

She turned and sighed heavily. Fenris wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to  _know_. Sarai had never seen him so–pissed off. She wasn’t entirely sure how he could exude a frown with his face covered, but he was doing it. The other technitians moved out of his way as he made a beeline to her.

“You’re going to get yourself  _killed_  and not tell me?”

“I’ll try not to die,” she muttered, strapping on her oxygen tank. The familiar hiss came through the tubes where her helmet should be protecting her, but for now, the helmet sat on her hip.

“No, you won’t. You’ll tear yourself apart to fix this. You think it’s your mess. It’s  _not_ ,” he said, voice cracking. “ _Sarai_. Don’t do this so blindly.”

She grimaced, clenching her teeth. It  _hurt_ , too fucking much. This is why she didn’t want him here, see her strapped in and eager for the end.  _Damnit_.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered. “Fen–”

_Two minutes until jump, Commander._

“Thank you, Merrill.” She turned back to Fenris, standing with his arm crossed. He was part pissed off, and part sad. “I didn’t want you here because I’d do it anyway.”

“Of course you would.” He shifted into a more relaxed pose, sighing. “Be careful out there. What will I do without you?”

“Live a peaceful life where you’ll grow old, retire, be happy.”

“Nothing about that interests me without you.”

She sighed, and he finally came closer. Then he took off his mask, making her breath catch. She had seen him before, but his face,  _for fuck’s sake_  he was beautiful. Bright eyes that made her forget every ill in the world. Lips quirked up into a sad, slight smile.

Having her suited arms wrap around him made him seem even more slight, and she kissed him like it would be the last time. Memorized the way he smelled, the faint hum of electricity and the thrum of his heart. He risked being sick for a week just because he wanted this. A stubborn man, and she  _loved_  him. She took a deep breath, grazing her lips against his one last time before pulling away.

Nothing could change. She had a mission, she had a plan. It could go sour, even if she was careful. There was nothing she could do about that now.

“Love you, Fen.”

His eyes were making he regret ever starting on this path. “And I love you.”

She put on the helmet, not wanting to turn away. To burn this image into her retinas, keep it close and have it make her sick. Him standing there, still holding his mask, watching her go farther and farther away. She wanted him safe, wanted _all of them_  safe. She was  _just_  collateral. But she finally turned and walked to the airlock, the gate closing behind her with an unsettling  _clank_.

“Goodbye,” she said with a sniff, and knew it was for the best.


	6. Raleigh?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarai finds out his full name.

She had found a letter, an old one, addressed to him when he was still a Templar, saying his full name.  _Raleigh Samson,_ she hummed thoughtfully as she ran her thumb over the faded ink.

She didn’t drop the letter when he found her, and it was his fault for leaving it where she could find it. But she grinned, like she had figured out some great secret.

“Why don’t you use your first name?” Sarai slunk her arms over his shoulders, tilting her face to kiss his cheek. He begrudgingly smiled, more because of the soft look in her eyes. “There’s nothing to be shy about. I like it.” She grinned, rolling her tongue around the new word. “Raleigh.”

“Samson sounds more–”

“More what? Serious? You’d prefer it when people recognize you at the Hanged Man?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Raleigh”, Sarai sung softly, stretching out the vowels as she nuzzled against him.

“You don’t make it sound so bad.”

“Good,” she hummed, toying with a stray lock of hair.

Samson put his arms around her, hands sliding over her waist. “That’s all you had to say?”

“Yes. What else–” It took a moment, but he relished the moments when she’d pick up what he meant. She wasn’t so much flirtatious as she was blunt, and frequently failed at suggestiveness.

She laughed, low and soft but without shame. “Oh. I see. How about “I’ll be saying it plenty later”?”

Samson laughed, kissing her neck. “Atta girl.”


	7. Touching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gets touch adverse on occasion.

Sometimes she can’t touch him. At all.

It will start like this: Fenris wakes up, startled and slips out of her arms. Sarai sleeps like a rock, barely moving outside of bad dreams. He wanders around, unsettled and groggy, and doesn’t come back to bed. He sleeps on the floor, or in a chair, and Sarai wakes up to find him looking entirely at home in some unusual pose.

The first time he did this, she gently shook him awake, urged him back to bed. “No. This is fine.” He insisted. So Sarai went back to bed, watching him in the dim almost-morning light until she can’t focus on his white hair, his twitching fingers.

It continues like this: He wakes up on his own accord and hastily gets dressed, as if he doesn’t want to be seen. Sarai wakes at the rustling and watches him, nervously. He turns to her and looks down, immediately, after noticing her gaze. “Please, don’t.“ 

The first time, she remembers when she did that herself, hiding her scars and marks before anyone noticed. She says "I won’t.” and turns away from him, and that becomes the norm.

Through the day: He keeps her at an arms’ length, not wanting her hands on him at all. Fenris presses fingers into his palms and trembles as if they bring back a nasty memory. He traces the scabs of lyrium in his skin and shudders, but he controls it, has it down to a science. Sarai doesn’t get too close, doesn’t walk within a space to brush against him. Sometimes his armor is on and it helps, sometimes they brush glove-and-gauntlet fingers but he can’t do more, can’t ask her for more.

The first time, Sarai presses her hand into his and Fenris pulls away, shaking his head and muttering “sorry” and she tells him “No, no, that was my fault. I made a mistake. Forgive me.” He thinks he’s the mistake, trips over his usually clear words, and she wants to hug because she knows a reassuring warm embrace best. She doesn’t, because she can almost feel his skin screaming at her not to.

At the end: He undresses quickly and heads to bed before she finishes yet another book. When she undresses he watches her, counting the moments where he’ll have to deal with her being so close again. Her scent reminds him of what she is: steady, undemanding, kind, patient. He has never had that before her, but he can’t remember otherwise. “I am grateful,” he hums. “You deserve that respect,” she responds, stroking her thumb on the sheets close to his arm. “I won’t hurt you, I don’t want to hurt you.” She smiles, and it translates to a kiss without touching, before turning around to fall asleep.

The first time, Sarai curls up in a ball before Fenris thinks about sleep, and doesn’t reawaken until he comes in. “Are you alright,” she asks, and he responds with “No.” She stays on her side, he stays on his. The next morning, he reaches out for her, pulls her into his arms, and presses a kiss into her skin. “Thank you,” he mutters, and she turns to face him, pressing kisses onto his lips and cheeks. “I understand.”


	8. Noir AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raleigh Samson, down on his luck PI, may have hit the jackpot in a couple of ways.

“You’ve got a new client waiting for you, Sam.”

“New? Surprising.”

“She came in and seemed serious. Had her own files and everything,” Maddox said with a shrug. “Missing brother, she said. Told her to take a seat, that you were just out for lunch.”

Samson didn’t get much business, barely enough to keep Maddox paid. It was going on Samson’s second month skipping out on his own pay, but he couldn’t give it all up yet. Since he was subsisting on less and less, his bad habits were showing up more. Namely the nail biting and cigarette smoking, but he couldn’t help it. It was the only thing that kept his teeth from chattering some nights.

“What’s her name?”

“Hawke.”

“Her  _whole_ name?”

“She just said she was ‘Miss Hawke’. I guess you can ask her more.”

“Thanks, Maddox,” Samson said with a laugh, nodding at him before walking into his office.

When he opened the door, the woman jumped up, one manila folder in her arms. She was dressed more for a night out than for a meeting. Black satin hugged her subtle curves, her shoulders exposed. Her matching stole sat in her elbows and nearly blended into her black gloves. Hair was perfectly done, short but just slightly curled, and crimson lipstick stood out on her full lips, especially in contrast to her dark skin.

So it was gonna be  _that_ kind of case. Who would he have to find? Missing sister? Brother? Husband, maybe? If it was that, Samson would put money she offed the man herself.

“Detective Samson?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And you’re–”

“Hawke, Sarai Angeline Amell-Hawke _,_ to be precise. Forgive my outfit, I have to go straight to work after this.”

“What–exactly–do you do, Miss Hawke?”

“Singer, showgirl, a little of this, a little of that.”

“Well, let’s not keep the people waiting,” he said with a smile. She smiled back, for what  _that_  was worth. “What can I do for you?”

She came closer without hesitating, flipping open her little folder that was full of paperclips. Sarai smelled strongly of jasmine, a hair product he couldn’t place, and slightly of cigarette smoke, probably from sitting and waiting for him. She was also unusually tall, nearly meeting him eye to eye save for an inch or two. 

In the file, photos of a younger man were stuck to paper with tape. “Carver Hawke”, the paper said. A few clippings from a society page, but he couldn’t get the title of it. The family seemed to consist of her parents, two girls, and the missing boy. Sarai took strongly after her father, while her siblings looked more like a blend of both.

“My brother disappeared last week,” she said softly, pointing at the more recent photo of him. An enlistment photo, him gently smiling while wearing a naval uniform. “I went to the police but they aren’t doing anything about it. He just turned nineteen, they think he’s a runaway.”

Samson furrowed his brows, seeing her sadly touch the small photo of them together. 

“What makes you think he didn’t?”

“Carver’s not that kind of person,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Never been in trouble, though he’s always been tough.” Sarai shook her head. “But–I don’t know why he would run off. I don’t think he ran off at all.”

“Maybe he’s got the jitters about heading into the mainland?”

“No, he’s too proud about it. I think he’s trapped somewhere–I have to know he’s safe. Will you help me?”

She turned her gaze back to him from the file, and Sarai had a set of eyes he couldn’t really say no to. Lined with black, probably the very definition of ‘doe eyes’. She could probably turn any man into putty with them.

“I’ll pay your going rate,” she added quickly. “And extra if I can help.”

“Help? How’s a showgirl gonna help me?” He scoffed, backing up slightly. 

The set in her mouth shifted from pleased to determined. “I’m a good shot, and I’m not always wearing a dress. I’m whip-smart and well-educated. I could be better help than just working it alone.”

Samson huffed. He  _could_ use the help, if the price was right. “How much extra?”

“Hm–how’s another fifty quid?”

Samson narrowed his eyes. A girl with money to play around with, well-educated, and he had heard of the Amells before. So why was she working as a singer? Life’s passion, maybe, but it wasn’t exactly an average career.

“Your brother really  _is_ missing, right?”

“Yes!” Her indignant was a surprise, and she quickly shut the folder and clutched it back to her chest. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”Sarai extended her gloved hand. “Now, do we have a deal?”

Samson hesitantly shook it. “Deal,” he grumbled. “But the–the you helping. We’ll see how helpful you are.”

She sighed with relief, seeming to relax every inch of her body. “Thank God. Everyone else turned me away.”

“Well, I don’t turn down any cases,” he added with a smirk. “Even with–well, anyway. We’ve obviously got work to do. So, take a seat. Tell me more about–Carver, was it?”

Gently, he placed his hand on the small of her back to urge her to his actual desk. Nothing about the woman seemed fragile, but he could only wait to see if she was genuine.


End file.
